


A Different Kind of Tip

by desticockles



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Teenagers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-07
Updated: 2014-04-07
Packaged: 2018-01-18 12:07:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1427917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/desticockles/pseuds/desticockles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean are alone at home and Sam is hungry, so Dean orders a pizza. Unfortunately he is a bit short on his tip and he hates being that guy who gives a dollar tip to someone who works so hard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Different Kind of Tip

“I’m hungry,” Sam complains one slow moving Saturday night, face illuminated by the flickering light of the television playing some crappy old movie. Dean frowns and flops down beside him, their old couch creaking in complaint under his weight.

It seems like Sam is always hungry recently. Of course, going through a growth spurt will do that to you. But getting food isn’t exactly an easy thing. Their fridge is almost always empty besides a few cans of beer, a carton of eggs, a half gallon of milk, and a block of cheese - most of which Dean had to lift from the Walmart down the street - and the pantry is equally sparse, holding bread and peanut butter and not much else. Even if their dad wasn’t spending all their grocery money on liquor, they don’t exactly get enough on government support alone to keep their kitchen well stocked.

Dean started working a few hours a week for his dad’s old friend Bobby - who, honestly, has been more of a father to him than his real father recently. He helps fix up cars in Bobby’s garage when he can. When he doesn’t have to take care of Sam. Usually he goes when Sam is at a friend’s house. Dean has known how to navigate the guts of a car just about as long as he has been able to walk, so working for Bobby is easy and it gets him enough money to actually buy some things rather than steal them. Recently, though, he has been having to use that money to buy Sam bigger clothes since the kid’s growing faster than Dean could ever steal him a pair of pants. 

“What do you want?” He asks, looking up at the water damaged ceiling. 

“I don’t know,” Sam says, sounding thoughtful.

“Pizza?”

Sam’s response is a nod and a smile, and Dean takes out his phone to order a large pepperoni pizza. Sam will probably complain about how greasy it is, but he always eats it anyway.

 

 

…

 

 

It’s been fifteen minutes since Dean ordered the pizza, and the entirety of those fifteen minutes has been spent frantically searching the house for extra money for a tip. He only has a dollar and fifty cents by the time he has searched every room and under the couch cushions. He hates the idea of not giving the deliverer a decent tip. He knows those people work hard and get shit pay, and he wants to help out, but there is no way he can come up with any more money than this in a few short minutes.

Dean is sufficiently worked up, pacing in front of the door and pulling his fingers through his hair, when there is a knock at the door and his heart sinks into his stomach. Maybe it’s stupid to be so upset about it, but he feels like an asshole already. He takes a deep breath, telling himself that there’s no reason to be so upset, and reaches out to open the door just as the person on the other side knocks again. He flinches and curses under his breath, yanking the door open.

Standing in the doorway, fist still raised and a box of pizza in his other hand, is a boy with wide blue eyes and messy dark hair. But this isn’t just any blue eyed boy, this is Castiel _fucking_ Novak. _Shit_. 

Dean has had a crush on Castiel since last summer when he first moved in down the street. The guy hardly ever talks in school, but he’s clearly a genius or something, and he’s damn good looking, too. He always sits in the back of the classroom alone. Dean has thought about approaching him on numerous occasions, but Castiel would always glare in his direction, so he left him alone. He hardly ever talks, either, but when he does Dean listens intently, drawn to the rough sound of the other boy’s voice - once or twice wondering what it would sound like if he were completely wrecked and writhing.

And apparently he delivers pizza.

“Hello,” Castiel finally says, and Dean realizes they’d been staring at each other for too long. He takes note of the pink tint to Castiel’s cheeks, and before he can get himself too excited about what it might mean, decides that it’s just because Castiel wasn’t expecting to see someone from school. At least Dean has no intention to bully Castiel, unlike some of the guys in their class, some of whom might beat him up just for the fun of it.

“Hey,” Dean says, putting on his most charming smile. “Castiel, right?”

He asks, though he already knows, mostly because he is nervous.

Castiel’s eyes widen slightly and his cheeks are progressively reddening. He nods. 

“Yes. And your name is Dean. I, uh… I have your pizza.” 

“Yeah, thanks,” Dean replies, heart pounding a little too fast for his liking. He digs around in his pocket for the money, and suddenly that feeling of inadequacy returns full force as he scoops the change for his meager tip into his hand. “I don’t have much to give you for a tip, but I scraped up as much as I could find.”

Castiel’s eyes narrow slightly, like he doesn’t understand. It almost seems as if he has forgotten why he is even here. Dean holds out the cash and coins for Castiel to take, and he blinks and looks down at the hand held out to him.

“It’s, uh… not as much as I’d like to give you...” Dean cringes inwardly, because he never gets this nervous. Dammit. “I owe you.”

Castiel looks up at Dean, eyes wide and stunned, and then the look fades into a small smirk, his blue eyes twinkling like stars. “I think I know a way you can make up for it,” he says, his voice lower than normal, slightly raspy. Dean’s breath catches in his throat and he watches in confusion as Castiel’s face falls, and he looks seriously terrified. “Did I just say that out loud?”

Dean opens his mouth to answer, but no words will come out, so he nods instead, unsure how to answer. Castiel nods, frowning, and closes his eyes for a moment.

“I am very sorry. That was not supposed to- I don’t know what happened.”

“No, don’t worry about it,” Dean says, hoping to sound reassuring, but he really wants to know what Castiel meant. Oh, how he wishes he knew, because Castiel’s cheeks are bright red and he looks like he just wants to turn and run. Instead Castiel takes the money Dean is offering, his fingers brushing against Dean’s palm, the touch sending sparks through his hand. Castiel offers up the pizza and as soon as Dean takes it he starts backing away, tripping a little over his own feet, and gives Dean an awkward attempt at a smile before he turns and walks back to the car he came in.

Dean shuts the door slowly, still a bit stunned, and as the latch clicks Sam clears his throat from the doorway to the living room. Dean turns to see him leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest and one eyebrow raised, complimenting the amused smirk on his face.

“What was that about?” He asks, and Dean can _hear_ the smirk in his voice. He rolls his eyes and pushes past his little brother, putting the box down in the kitchen. “Hey, wait. Seriously, what just happened?”

“Nothing.”

“ _Bull_ ,” Sam says, sounding extremely irritated by Dean’s dishonesty. “Your face is red as a tomato and you look like your _really_ out of it, so tell me what happened.”

Dean sighs and opens the pizza box, hoping to avoid having to answer Sam by simply not answering him. He really doesn’t want to discuss the fact that he has a crush on a strange guy who delivers pizza. Especially the _guy_ part. Sam sits heavily in a chair at the kitchen table, long limbs sprawled out in front of him, and stares at Dean with disappointment in his eyes.

“Come on, Dean. Please.”

“Don’t you _dare_ do that puppy eye crap at me,” Dean grouses, pointing an accusing finger at his brother. “It’s not gonna’ work. Not this time.”

“Seriously?” Sam rolls his eyes, and then he gets an odd look on his face and turns to stare out the window. Dean pretends he didn’t notice and scoops a slice of pizza out of the box. “Uh, Dean…?”

“What?” Dean asks, slightly irritable.

“The pizza man didn’t leave yet. He looks like he’s… I don’t even know, just look.” He points out the window and Dean rolls his eyes before stepping closer, looking out at where Sam is pointing. Sure enough, Castiel is still sitting in front of their house, in his car with his forehead pressed against the steering wheel. Dean’s brows pull together but he turns away from the window and shrugs as if he is unbothered. Sam stares out for a moment longer before he shrugs as well and reaches across the table to snatch a slice from the pizza box.

They sit at the table eating in silence, and Dean pointedly keeps his eyes away from the window. It’s difficult not to glance up, and Sam seems to notice that Dean is struggling if the concerned look on his face means anything. They’ve both scarfed down two slices before Dean cracks and looks out of the window. Castiel’s car is still there, lit up and parked against the curb, but he’s not inside anymore.

Dean must have looked absolutely terrified, because Sam perked up right away and asked him what was wrong. Before Dean could even think of an answer, someone was knocking on the door. Dean knew it was Castiel, and the sound made him jump slightly in his seat, causing Sam’s concerned look to intensify.

“Dean, what is it?”

“I don’t know,” Dean answers as he stands, “stay there.”

But he does know. He knows and his heart is in his throat as he pulls the door open to find Castiel on the other side, jaw set and eyes narrowed. Dean is about to ask if something is wrong, but before he can even open his mouth Castiel is stepping into his personal space, crowding in, and although Dean thinks that he should probably move away, he can’t, feet unwilling to carry him. He’s pretty sure his heart just skipped a beat, or maybe stopped completely for a few seconds.

“You said you owe me,” Castiel says, close enough that Dean can feel his breath on his face. He licks his lips, heart beating unevenly, and nods. Then Castiel’s hand is against his cheek and he says “I’d like to collect,” as he leans forward. Dean swallows thickly, too dazed to move, heart beat skipping as their lips touch, but the moment they make contact he finds himself leaning into it, kissing him back. Castiel seems surprised by Dean’s reaction, stilling for a moment before he shuffles closer and smoothes his thumb across Dean’s cheek slowly, tenderly.

Then in an instant it turns rough. Castiel’s hand finds it’s way to Dean’s hair, fingers curling in the short brown locks, and Dean’s back is suddenly pressed against the door. He gasps in surprise and Castiel takes it as an invitation, plunging his tongue into Dean’s mouth. Dean almost forgets to breathe, lost in disbelief that this is actually happening, right here and right now. Castiel tastes like cinnamon and apples - which, _fuck_ , that’s practically Dean’s idea of heaven.

Dean can’t help but to smile against Castiel’s lips, giddy and feeling a little light headed. Castiel breaks the kiss, then, and their noses bump as he pulls away just enough to meet Dean’s heavily lidded eyes. He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and all Dean wants to do is kiss him again.

“I almost expected you to punch me,” Castiel mutters, hand falling to Dean’s shoulder.

“Why?”

“If you really need to ask, then it’s clear there was no need for me to worry at all.”

Dean smiles, holding back a snort of a laugh. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“You’re not… bothered?”

“Not at all,” Dean answers, licking his lips. A thought occurs to him suddenly, and he frowns, brow furrowing. “But shouldn’t you be getting back to work?”

“Actually, my shift just ended.” A small smirk pulls one corner of his mouth up and the way he stares into Dean’s eyes is both intimidating and _fucking_ _hot_. That thought suddenly doesn’t seem as inappropriate as it had any other time Dean thought it before. That probably has something to do with Castiel’s sudden transformation from cute, intimidating, quiet guy in the back of the classroom, to a hot pizza delivery boy with no boundaries and _really_ soft lips. Not to mention he tastes fucking amazing.

“Oh,” Dean says, practically whispering, and pulls Castiel in by his neck to kiss him again. This kiss is softer, tender and slow, but it makes Dean’s heart beat just as quick, and he can hardly even believe that this is really happening. Just yesterday he had resigned himself to the fact that he would probably never be able to even hold a real conversation with Castiel, but here they are now with their lips locked and hands roaming, Dean’s back against the open door.

“Whoa!” Sam exclaims from somewhere behind Dean, and he begins to pull away from Castiel, who bites his bottom lip gently as they separate. Dean suppresses a groan and turns to face his brother - kiss swollen lips and pink cheeks and all. He clears his throat awkwardly, unsure of what to do with his hands or what to say.

“It’s not-” _what it looks like,_ he was going to say, but he stops because he knows that’s bullshit. “I can explain.”

“No, you don’t need to. I just… The way you were acting earlier I thought there was going to be some mafia guy at the door with a gun to your head. This is… this is what ever it is, man. Have fun with that,” Sam says, waving awkwardly to Castiel before he turns away, taking two steps at a time up to his room. 

Dean turns slowly to face Castiel, who is smiling at him like an idiot. “What?”

“That was odd,” Castiel supplies, and Dean nods in agreement.

“Sammy’s a weird one. But he’s a good kid.”

Castiel’s smile droops with a bit of sadness and Dean wonders why, but he doesn’t think he has the right to ask. Instead he lets Castiel pull him in by his hand and wrap his arms around Dean’s waist, brushing their mouths together in an almost-kiss. He wonders how this even happened, surprised at how comfortable this seems even though about twenty minutes ago they hadn’t even exchanged more than ten words.

“I should go,” Castiel murmurs, sounding severely disappointed. “But I want you to know, I’ve wanted to do that for a very long time.”

“Me too,” Dean says before he can stop himself, and Castiel surprises him with a smile. “We should do it again some time?”

“Absolutely.” Castiel squeezes Dean’s hip gently and pecks his lips before he pulls away, slipping a pice of paper into Dean’s hand before he puts space between them. Dean feels cold at the loss of contact, but Castiel smiles at him as he backs away to his car, and a little spark of warmth ignites in his chest as he smiles back. He watches Castiel go, and once he has gotten into his car and turned down the street, Dean closes the door and presses his forehead to the cool wood, grinning like a fucking idiot at the scrap of paper in his hand, sloppy numbers scrawled upon it in red ink.

Maybe they should order pizza more often.


End file.
